Iona a place for saints and sinners

This is a good place to be
It’s silence and serenity is like gold
But you have to mine it
Dig deep into yourself
To lose the noise of footsteps,
voices,
camera clicks,
and the rustle of clothes.

People move around as though searching,
looking,
some leaning on sticks.
Some full of faith
Breathing in the worship space.

Candles lit in a circle of iron
Prayer requests
pinned to a cross.
Stone slabs neatly laid.

Stone crosses wooden beams
shaped and carved
by monks and masons
and men from Govan
Speak of human longing
to be forgiven.

And windows shaped in triune leaves
Speak of God the creator.
Light streams in
And the rain falls
upon the glass
And here we stand
In line from Columba

Engaged by the romance
are we tourists or traders
dsciples or devils?
Turning stone crosses to bread
Making holy symbols in to brands
Tourists and pilgrims
We make the cross
a touching place.
hands reach out to touch the pulpit
It’s message carved on wood
‘My word will not return to me void’